The B-Team (Benson Security)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Harvard had taken Rachel home, reminding her they could just as easily go through the Benson Security files there as at Julia’s house. She’d been dead on her feet, only remaining upright by sheer stubbornness and her immovable iron will. But Harvard was worried. She’d been in pain off and on all day and had dark circles under her eyes from the strain. Unlike Rachel, he’d read the pregnancy books Isobel gave them and had begun to believe these weren’t Braxton Hicks contractions but the real thing. Of course, trying to convince Rachel to see her obstetrician was pointless. She was still in denial about becoming a mother.

It was a short drive through the center of London to their penthouse apartment in Westminster. In a white-stone listed building designed in the 1920s, their apartment took up half of the top two floors and overlooked the Thames. Sometimes, Harvard still had to pinch himself to believe that his new living arrangement wasn’t a dream. He’d gone from growing up in working-class Atlantic City to living in a home with its own private elevator and a rooftop terrace view of the Houses of Parliament.

But it’s what Rachel had wanted, and he was man enough not to let his ego get in the way of her having it. Although he’d invested well and had a very healthy bank account balance, it was nothing compared to Rachel’s wealth, which was what they’d used to purchase their home. Harvard didn’t care. He knew there were plenty of ways to contribute to a healthy relationship. Money was only one of them.

As the lights sparkled over the river and the face of Big Ben gleamed in the night, Rachel curled up in a corner of their large white sofa and stared out at the view. She’d done little more than kick off her shoes since arriving home, which concerned him. She was too quiet, too subdued, too… un-Rachel.

“Hey, Princess.” He placed a fruit platter and a glass of sparkling water on the table beside her before running his hand down her hair. “You still in pain?”

“Before you ask,” she said, picking up a grape, “it’s not labor. I’m not in screaming agony.”

His lips twitched as he fought a smile. Rachel was as tough as they came. “You want to go float in the pool for a bit?” At least in this apartment, the pool wasn’t directly above their bed and glass-bottomed to boot.

“No.” She sighed. “I’m so tired. I’m not sure I’ll even make it to bed. I might just curl up right here.”

Her face tightened, and he knew she was in pain again. He’d read that the practice Braxton Hicks contractions—if that’s what this was—were painful and irregular. Unfortunately, with everything else going on and Rachel’s refusal to communicate, he wasn’t entirely sure whether the pain was hitting at regular intervals.

Harvard sat beside her and pulled her against him, feeling deep satisfaction when she curled into his side. This was his Rachel. The one only he got to see.

“How about we call the doc and get her to come take a look at you? It won’t hurt, right?” He kept his voice smooth and low, trying not to spook her.

“I honestly believe that would be a waste of her time.”

She tensed against him with another wave of pain, and he glanced at his watch, taking note of the time. “Is it getting worse?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Rachel picked up the fruit platter, balanced it on his thigh, and offered him a grape. He accepted it willingly.

It was clear he wouldn’t get any more information out of his stubborn wife, so he changed the subject while keeping a close eye on her. “The nursery’s almost finished. The crib arrives tomorrow, and your mom’s coming over to put the finishing touches on the room.” He swore he could feel her eyes roll, and he grinned.

“Why she insists on making such a fuss, I don’t know. It’s not like this is her first grandchild.”

“It’s the first one you’re having,” Harvard pointed out.

“And probably the last,” she grumbled.

Yeah, he wasn’t about to touch that topic.

She shifted, clearly uncomfortable, and tensed again. Her breathing grew shallow momentarily before she relaxed back into him. He checked his watch. Only a few minutes since the last wave of pain.

“Do you want me to give you a back rub?”

“No. I want to sit here until this discomfort passes. And then I’d like to sleep for about ten years.” Rachel sighed. “But we have to go through those files.”

“We’re not the only ones on this,” he reminded her. “The team’s got it.”

She scoffed. “The team comprises one brain-damaged ex-soldier, a former MMA fighter, a movie star, a woman who can tell us the statistical chances of our failure, and two Scottish lunatics. The only useful members of our current team are Julia and Katrina. And Katrina’s trapped in a panic room while Julia’s about to pop at any second. It’s not exactly the A-Team. It isn’t even the B-Team. We’re scraping the bottom of the alphabet on this one. They desperately need us.”

Man, she was hilarious. He felt her wince again and checked the time. These pains were coming regularly now, and there wasn’t a whole lot of time between them.

“Maybe I’ll give the doc a call anyway,” he said casually. “Make her earn some of that money we’re paying her.”

“Please yourself,” Rachel said, pointing to the kitchen area. “My phone’s in my handbag on the island.”

“I really need to pick up a replacement phone.” Harvard eased himself out from under her and padded across the thick, white carpet to the kitchen, vaguely wondering how long the carpet would stay white with a baby around.

As he reached for Rachel’s bag, her phone rang. He pulled it out.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Number withheld.” He answered the call. “Who’s this?”

“Harvard, it’s me,” David said. “I’m calling from the detainment center.”

“You okay?” Harvard asked.

“Yeah, fine. I just interrogated Fitzwater and got some info we can use.”

And just like that, he had Harvard’s full attention. “What did you learn?”

“This whole investigation into Benson Security is a cover-up for a fishing expedition. He’s angling for evidence he believes we’ve got on someone in government. Something that could turn into a sex scandal and ruin a career if released. He seems to think it was given to Lake by one of his sources, someone on the ground in London. I got the impression it wasn’t just a case of an informant passing on gossip but that this person had handed over hard data.”

Harvard smiled. “You never fail to impress. We found out from his ex-wife that he’s been bailing his younger cousin out of trouble for years. Maybe it’s to do with him.”

“Is this cousin in politics?”

“Not sure. Gimme a sec.” He raised his voice. “Rach, is Darian in politics?”

She barked out a laugh, but her face was white and strained again. “No. He couldn’t handle it.”

“She says no.” Harvard checked his watch. Less time had elapsed since the last wave of pain. His stomach tightened. This was looking more like actual labor with each passing minute. But Rachel said the pain wasn’t that bad… Was he overreacting?

“Are you listening to me?” David demanded.

“Sorry, Rachel’s in pain. What did you say?”

“She okay?” David asked, sounding worried.

“She is at the moment.” Rachel was sipping the ice water and looked exhausted, but she wasn’t writhing in agony. “Tell me what I missed.”

“If this Darian guy isn’t in government, this isn’t about him. Fitzwater’s definitely looking for info that will ruin a government career.”

“His uncle’s the minister for police,” Harvard said.

“Then that’s who you need to look into. I’d bet my bottom dollar this is all about him.”

“Him and some sort of sex scandal?” Harvard asked, his eyes fixed on Rachel.

“Definitely.”

“I’ll let the team kn—” He stopped as Rachel clutched her belly and gasped. Hell yes, those pains were getting worse. “I gotta go. I think Rach is in labor.”

“Good luck,” David said before Harvard ended their call.

He was already dialing the obstetrician as he crossed the room to his wife. He crouched in front of her, and dark eyes met his.

“It’s a little bit sore now,” she said.

He’d begun to suspect Rachel had a high pain tolerance. “Yeah, I’m picking up on that.” He took her hand.

“Dr. Brandt,” a voice said in his ear.

“This is Michael Carter; I think Rachel’s in labor, and it may have been going on for hours.”

“Describe what you’re seeing.” The doc was all business.

Rachel gasped again and clutched his hand with a vise-like grip.

Harvard kept his tone soothing as he brought the doctor up to speed.

Once he’d finished, she took a breath and spoke. “Get to the hospital now. I’ll meet you there.”

It was all he needed to hear. He ended the call and brushed Rachel’s hair back from her face. There was sweat on her brow.

“Princess,” he said. “We’re going to the hospital. You’re having our baby.”

Feral eyes flashed with fury. “No,” she snapped. “This baby isn’t due for another two weeks. I made an appointment.”

“I know,” he cooed, “but I don’t think the baby got the memo.”

She glared at him before turning her attention to her belly. “You will not come early,” she ordered. “Do you hear me?”

It was very formidable but not particularly helpful.

“We have to go,” Harvard said.

“No. I won’t go. This isn’t happening.” She grabbed his hand and groaned as the pain overwhelmed her.

Harvard could tell there was no way in hell he’d reason her into doing this, so all he could do was take over and deal with the fallout later. He stood, swept her into his arms, and headed for their private elevator. Once inside, he set her on her feet and held her steady while calling down for their car.

“This is kidnapping!” She stamped her bare foot and pointed a finger at him. “You can’t take me to the hospital just because you think I’m in labor. This is my body, and I’ll know when I’m in la—” She grabbed his arm and let out a strangled wail.

“Just breathe, Princess. Try not to tense; just relax through it.” Damn, the last time he’d felt this helpless was when his team had been wiped out during a mission. He clenched his jaw. Nothing bad was going to happen to Rachel. Nothing. Not if he could help it. And he’d damn well die trying to stop anything from going wrong.

The wave of pain passed as the elevator doors opened into the ground-floor lobby.

“I am not in labor,” Rachel shouted. “It’s those fake birthing pains, or contractions, or whatever the hell they call them. They’ll go away. Everybody has them. You’re overreacting and forcing me to do something before I’m ready. Take me back up to our home right now!”

The doorman took one look at them, summed up the situation, and ran for the main entrance. He held the door wide. “Your car’s just pulling up, Mr. Carter,” he said, sounding a little scared.

“Don’t let him take me,” Rachel ordered the man. “This is kidnapping, and I’ll have your job for this. Do you hear me? What kind of doorman are you that you’ll stand back and allow someone to be forcefully removed from their apartment? Call the police! No. Don’t call them. They’re all corrupt and annoying. Call my father.” She glared at Harvard. “He’ll sort you out.”

“I’m sure he will.” He scooped her back into his arms when another contraction hit. She curled her fingers into his shirt, and a stifled scream escaped her. “Breathe, Princess. Don’t panic. This is all perfectly normal.”

So why did it feel like it was all going wrong?

Sweat pooled in the small of Harvard’s back as their driver jumped out of the car and rushed around to open the door for them.

“Hospital?” he asked Harvard.

“Break the speed limit; we’ll deal with the cops later.”

“Got it.” The man shut the door on them before hurrying back around to the driver’s seat.

“I’m firing you too,” Rachel shouted at him. “This is aiding and abetting a kidnapping. This baby isn’t due for another two weeks.”

Panicked eyes met Harvard’s in the rearview mirror.

“Put your foot down,” Harvard told him as Rachel struggled to escape his lap.

“Unhand me!” she yelled.

“Rach, listen to me,” he said, working hard to sound calm when he felt anything but. “If this is all a big mistake, I’ll take you straight home after the doc has checked you out, okay?”

“No. I want to go home now.” She turned to the driver, who was weaving through the traffic. “Turn this car around immediately.”

“Don’t even think about it, Jason,” Harvard said.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Rachel rounded on him.

“Because I love you?” Yeah, it sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Rage turned her eyes black. “I’ll make you pay for this, Michael Carter, mark my w—” Pain struck again, and the shouting stopped.

He held her tight as another strangled cry escaped her.

And then a warm, wet sensation seeped through his jeans and over his thighs.

Rachel’s head snapped up, and she stared at him in shock. “I think my water just broke,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. “We’re on our way to the hospital.”

Panic swept over her face. “No, we can’t. This is humiliating. Take me home so we can change. I can’t go to the hospital like this.” She lowered her voice and hissed urgently, “We’re both wet.”

“Rachel, we’re going to the hospital now. You’re having a baby, and there isn’t time to get clean clothes.”

She took a deep breath, faced the roof of the car, and shouted, “This is not happening. I won’t allow it!”

Their car picked up speed.